


I Hear Peace (in the Rhythms of Your Voice)

by yumi_michiyo



Category: Glee
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Romance, Santana's potty mouth, more tags and characters to be added as it goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-22 07:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17658251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumi_michiyo/pseuds/yumi_michiyo
Summary: A collection of drabbles, vignettes, and short pieces set in the universe ofThe Shortest Distance, and a sequel of sorts. Rated for implied explicit content.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set a short while after _The Shortest Distance_. Quinn's POV. Mostly indulgent fluff to get back into the headspace of this universe.

Quinn sat, exhausted, on the couch.  _Their_ couch now – she smiled to herself as she ran a hand over the upholstery. Marley had offered to shift it to another room and they could buy a new couch, but she had declined the offer; there were too many fond memories tied up in it now.

"Quinn?"

"In here," she called back.

Less than a minute later, Marley appeared in the doorway. "I was wondering where you'd disappeared to," she groused. "You could've taken me with you."

She smiled. "You looked like you were having the time of your life sorting through my book collection."

"Time of my life? Really?" Marley slumped onto the couch, dropping her head on Quinn's shoulder. "I was mentally calculating how many IKEA shelves we'll need to get to hold them all."

Quinn gasped in mock outrage. "You're exaggerating. If we'll need to get new shelves at all, it'll be because you have so many books of your own that mine won't fit."

Marley laughed. "Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. But seriously, we have way too many books between the two of us." She sat up and kissed Quinn's cheek. "C'mon. I've got a surprise for you."

"For me?"

"I like how that's what you choose to focus on," said Marley dryly, in tones that exactly matched Quinn's acerbic style. It was something Quinn didn't care for, even if it was coming from her girlfriend, and so she retaliated by lightly bopping Marley's arm, producing a soft 'ow'.

"Stop laughing and show me this surprise," retorted Quinn. It was a much less scathing response than what the older members of her faculty normally got, but she was actually fond of Marley.

Beaming, Marley tangled her fingers with Quinn's and led the way. They bypassed Marley's –  _their_  – bedroom, the guest room, coming to stop in front of a closed door at the end. "Open it."

"Isn't this your storage room?"

Marley shook her head. The movement caused hair to fall out of her already-messy ponytail. "Not anymore."

Quinn's fingers curl around the brass doorknob and turn it. She was here only once before, when Marley had asked her to retrieve a piece of kitchen equipment her mom had packed in her usual care package. It had arrived in the middle of an album launch, and Marley hadn't the time to unpack the box then.

The room was devoid of boxes now. A large wooden desk, paired with matching chair, dominated the modest space. One wall of the room was lined with modern bookshelves, all empty.

Quinn stared. "What's this?"

Arms slid around her waist; Quinn reflexively leaned into her girlfriend's embrace. "I thought you'd appreciate a home office. You complain about not having any peace in your room at the college with your colleagues constantly bugging you about minor things."

"But, your things…"

"Can go elsewhere. I've sorted them out."

Quinn turned in Marley's arms. Her hands curled around Marley's shoulders, pulling her closer. "How did you manage all this?"

"It wasn't difficult at all. Britt helped with the IKEA shopping and assembling the furniture; she'd come over when you worked late." A sly smile crossed her face. "You work too much, did you know that?"

"I love you." The words fell from Quinn's mouth before she could stop them. She blushed hot. "Um – I should've said thank you first."

Marley just laughed and gave Quinn's waist a squeeze. "That works for me, too," she said, leaning forward to steal a kiss. "Now – you gonna help me move your books in here?"

"Mmm." Quinn deepened the kiss, tightening her grip on Marley's shoulders to stop her retreat. "Now?" She let a contented sigh escape her as fingers find her scalp and scratch lightly.

"Later?" suggested Marley playfully.

"Later suits me fine." Quinn grinned at her. "But what are we doing now?"

Marley sighed. "Like you have to ask, Quinn Fabray," she grumbled. "Playing innocent isn't doing you any favors."

"Well, I just want to make sure…"Quinn dived in and nipped the side of Marley's neck teasingly, drawing a gasp from the younger woman. "... that we're on the same page." She drew her tongue over her upper lip with exaggerated slowness. From the hungry look in blue eyes that follow every movement, Quinn knows Marley was thinking about the night of the awards.

"In broad daylight? How scandalous."

Quinn winked. "I remember that you enjoy it when I'm being scandalous. Like in the car."

Marley's mouth went slack.

"Now, let's go. I don't need to christen my new home office, that honor's reserved for our bedroom."


	2. Anti-Climactic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back in time a little, this oneshot explains how Rachel and Santana got together in the TSD universe. **Mike** has very graciously agreed to beta and Americanize this series, and showed just how good he is at his job by completely overhauling this fic. More than half of the finished product only exists because of him.
> 
> This is set in the summer before Marley's junior year and Part Three of  _The Shortest Distance_.

 

There was a rumor going around William McKinley High that Santana Lopez's middle name was Diabla.  _The Devil_ , Jacob ben-Israel was fond of declaring dramatically into his camera – of course, only when Santana was safely out of earshot.

But these incidents were usually followed by glitter in his locker or enough slushies to make it look like he was a rainbow snowman. He knew Santana was behind it, but all of his investigative skills could never prove anything. And eventually, Jacob learned to find other, more interesting (and less vindictive) targets for his brand of journalism.

Santana Lopez, therefore, was highly skilled at keeping people out of her private business.

Too bad Rachel Barbra Berry didn't care about that.

* * *

Santana's troubles began when she'd left high school and Lima behind in her rearview mirror for good. Or, more accurately, when she'd arrived in New York and on the doorstep of the only two people she knew there.

Sure, Rachel was a pain in the ass and Kurt seemed to care more about his hair than anything else, but they were good people. Santana would know; she'd bullied them both (indirectly and directly) enough in high school to know they both had more spine than your average anatomy classroom skeleton.

They'd all changed over the years. It was impossible not to, with everything the big city threw at them. Rachel got less crazy, Kurt more streetwise. Hell, maybe  _she'd_  even learned a thing or two.

Mostly, Santana thought, she'd learned patience. Patience not to wring Rachel's neck when she tried to practice scales at six  _fucking_ AM because "I have a callback, Santana, and I don't think my voice will be sufficiently warmed up in this chilly weather if I don't start early".

The patience comes in handy when she finds herself at the Berrys' doorstep and manages not to run away.

Her dad –  _Black Berry_ , her brain supplies – eventually answers the door. "Hello, Santana," he says, sounding wary. "It's good to see you. I thought you would be travelling home with Rachel for the summer, since you two live together and all." He chuckles as though he's told a joke.

"Hi, Mr. Berry," she says.

"Leroy," he chides.

"Leroy." She really isn't in the mood for anything – well, Santana Lopez-ish. "Nah, not this year. Something unexpected came up at the last minute." This makes the man's eyebrows rise, but Santana ignores it. "I'm sorry to intrude, is Ber-Rachel home?"

Rachel's father is tall and as solidly built like a brick outhouse. "No, but she will be soon," says Leroy, scratching the side of his neck. "She just called to say she's on her way home from Shelby's." The slight wrinkling of his nose when he says Shelby's name tells Santana that the woman isn't his favorite person.

"Shelby's?"

"They're having a little party for Beth's birthday."

"Ah."

Leroy smiles kindly. "Would you like to come in and wait for her?"

"I…"

He opens the door wider and stares at her, daring her to turn his offer down. "I've just made hot cocoa. I don't mean to boast, but my hot cocoa could win awards if there was such a thing. Care to try some?"

Santana nods. "Thank you, Leroy."

"Glad we've established that. You can go back to calling me Mr. Berry if my cocoa doesn't pass muster."

She manages a smile for him. Over the years, she's learned there are a lot worse things out there than being gay and married in midwestern America. Now she's older and more mature, Santana's acquired a new degree of respect for the Berry family.

By the time Rachel arrives home, she's considerably more relaxed than before, curled up on the couch with a mug in her hands, criticizing the contestants on  _Project Runway_ with Leroy. "Daddy? I'm home – " She pauses, one boot off. "Santana?"

"Uh, hi, Rachel."

Leroy stands up. "I've got the ingredients for your special cocoa all ready to go, honey," he says, making a long detour on his way to the kitchen to kiss the top of Rachel's head. "Let me make it now, then you can take it up to your room."

"Thank you, Daddy." Rachel doesn't take her eyes off Santana, who fidgets with her mug, suddenly shy. She takes the spot on the couch recently vacated by Leroy.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course." It comes out a little prickly; Santana winces. "I mean… I've been better, but I'm good." She looks back down at her cocoa, hoping Rachel won't notice – or, worse – comment, on her blush. She's mortified; Santana Lopez does not stumble over her words.

Rachel just gives her a small smile and says nothing.

"You have something there…" Santana pokes at Rachel's cheek and frowns in confusion.

"Oh," says Rachel, combing her fingers through her hair. "That's probably frosting."

"Do I even wanna know?"

"Beth is more like Noah then anyone could ever want," remarks Rachel. She fishes for her phone and shows Santana a photo of Quinn, Beth, and Puck. They're all smiling – Quinn considerably less than the other two and with good reason; all three are covered with cake frosting. "He taught her to throw cake."

"Charming."

Rachel laughs and nods her agreement.

"I didn't know Quinn was in town already," remarks Santana.

"I didn't know  _you_ were in town until now."

Santana averts her eyes. "Something came up." She doesn't want to talk; not yet, not when Leroy could walk in any moment. Talking about feelings is hard enough without bringing adults into the mix.

Rachel opens her mouth –

"Rachel, sweetheart!"

"Coming, Daddy!" She stands. "My room?" she says, and Santana nods.

The sounds of the TV are cut off once Rachel shuts the door of her room, leaving them in complete and awkward silence. Rachel promptly breaks it.

"Why are you here, Santana?"

The question is gentle, lacking the anger Santana expected to hear. But she cringes anyway; she's known Rachel long enough to hear what the other girl isn't saying out loud.

"Why can't I be here?" She deflects.

Rachel worries her lower lip between her teeth. "I wasn't expecting you to come, honestly. After – you know. What happened between us. You and Quinn are  _so_  good at running away from your feelings."

The barb stings more than she'd expected it to do. "Yeah, about that... Jess and I called it quits."

"Oh, Santana."

"I told her about what we did."

Rachel visibly stiffens. "You did what?"

She shrugs. "I told her about the night we got drunk and slept together," says Santana. She feels oddly detached from the situation. "Which you keep alluding to but won't come out –  _ha_ – and say. That night."

"She couldn't forgive you for that?" Rachel's ire is unmistakable. "Why, that…  _bitch_."

Santana shakes her head. Better to get things over and done with now. "She did forgive me."

"... I don't think I understand."

"Jess actually thanked me for being honest with her, and she said she was willing to look past it." She pauses. " _I_  broke up with  _her_." Santana stands. She sets her mug on the nightstand, aware of Rachel's eyes following her every movement. "Jess was fun, but she was never gonna be more than that. Just like all the others." She's not actually good at long speeches, so she'll cut it short and hope to God that Rachel will understand what she's trying to say. "I suck at talking about feelings, so I'll only say this once: all this while, I was sure that Brittany had ruined me for good because I never could feel that way about anyone else. But you made me realize I was wrong."

Rachel has both hands flat on the bed, fingers flexing on the comforter. "... what are you trying to say, Santana?"

"I have feelings for you."

She lifts her head, eyes wide. "Are you sure about this?"

"God, I don't know. When have you ever known me to be good at knowing what I'm fucking feeling?" Santana shakes her head. "I just know I feel more for you than I've ever felt for Jess. Or Leah. Or the rest of them. Enough to get me off my ass to break it off and come to the gayest house in Lima fucking Ohio."

Rachel smiles suddenly. "While not exactly the romantic and heartfelt profession of love I've always dreamt of, I wouldn't expect anything else from you."

"... You're not freaking out."

"Why would I? I accepted my feelings for you a long time ago."

Speechless, Santana stares blankly at her.

Rachel slowly rises, smoothing out her skirt with both hands. "Santana, I've never had someone as complicated as you in my life before – the stereotypical mean cheerleader who became my best friend, and the person whom I can't imagine my life without. I even devoted a chapter to you in my memoir in which I'd talk about the numerous obstacles I overcame to become a beloved Broadway icon."

Santana chuckles. It's a sign of how far gone she is, that such a Rachel Berry statement is amusing to her instead of annoying.

"I've never had close female friends before. I latch onto people. I thought that whatever I was feeling for you was some combination of the two, and that sex would dispel that infatuation." Rachel pauses. "It just made it stronger."

"Oh."

"Yes."

Santana folds her arms across her chest. "So… you like me?"

Rachel rolls her eyes, but is still smiling. "Yes."

"And I'm pretty certain I like you."

Another eye roll. "I'm flattered."

Her smirk widens – out of relief or happiness, Santana isn't sure. "Can I kiss you now?"

"I'm glad you asked. And yes, you may."

The moment their lips touch, Santana is certain she hasn't made a mistake. Kissing Rachel feels right. And judging from the soft moan from Rachel as she deepens the kiss, Rachel feels the same way.

When they finally break apart, her hands are cupping Rachel's butt, holding her close. She would be embarrassed if Rachel's hands hadn't somehow wormed their way under her shirt. Santana just chuckles, feeling at peace with the world. "That was kinda amazing."

Rachel's staring at her, the adoration in her eyes clear to see. Knowing that it's for her makes Santana feel even better. "I'm glad you think so. I plan to be doing more of that in the near future."

"What, like now? Your dad's downstairs."

"Not  _now_!" squeaks Rachel, sounding scandalized. "My room may be soundproofed, and Daddy is unaware of this development in our relationship, but I'm not about to… go further, this quickly."

Santana, in true Santana-fashion, only hears the first two points. "If I can make you come in two minutes flat when we weren't even dating, imagine what I can do now. Feelings make everything better, y'know."

Rachel mutters something like "asshole" and pinches the small of Santana's back; she yelps in pain. In her excitement, she'd forgotten Rachel's hands were still on her bare skin.

"Ow! I'm not into that!"

"Why do I even like you," says Rachel in a deadpan voice, an uncannily good impression of Quinn. "I meant when we're back in New York, and we can be alone."

"Then what happens now?" Santana struggles to keep her mind away from thoughts of  _Rachel_ and  _alone_.

"We go downstairs, tell Daddy the news, and watch  _Project Runway_ with him until Dad comes home. Then we'll all go out for dinner; I imagine my dads will want to celebrate this milestone of my first lesbian relationship," says Rachel.

"You're joking."

"A little."

Santana can't believe she's this whipped, this early. "Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yeah. What, were you expecting me to bust through your window and run away screaming?"

"Only after I give you your personalized couple calendar," says Rachel.

Santana bursts out laughing; Rachel is quick to join in. "God, we've grown up," says Santana after she's calmed down a bit.

"I know. It feels weird."

She takes a chance. Santana pulls one of Rachel's hands out from under her shirt and entwines their fingers. "This doesn't, though."

Rachel's bright smile, and answering squeeze, makes Santana's heart melt a little more. "You know what's weird?" she says aloud. "When I imagined how this would go, the Rachel in my head did a lot more squealing."

This gets her a Rachel Berry-style huff. "I am not a pig, Santana Mariela Lopez."

"... Wait, you know my middle name?"

"Of course I do," scoffs Rachel. "You signed our apartment lease with your full name. Besides, you think I'd believe anything Jacob ben-Israel would say? That –  _slimeball,_  used to insinuate that I was madly in love with him." She huffs her annoyance with what sounds like "Diabla, indeed".

Santana finds herself smiling again. Even though it niggles her a little to have something so personal out there – not even Quinn or Brittany know her middle name – Santana is surprisingly unbothered that Rachel knows. Another sign of how much she's changed. "You mean you weren't?" asks Santana teasingly. "I mean, you  _did_ have a way of looking at him."

Rachel chokes on her outrage. "You mean, with pure and undisguised contempt."

"That's exactly what I meant." She feels a little better now the conversation isn't directed at her, but can't resist a last dig at Rachel. "So what else do you know about me, hmm?"

Rachel mirrors her smirk. "You'll just have to stick around and find out, won't you?"


End file.
